


I Shall Be Queen

by yet_intrepid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Dean, Cleaning, Domestic, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's more than a month since she's had the baby, her baby, and Mary's sick of John telling her not to wear herself out. She's taking the house back today with a full spring cleaning, curtains and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Shall Be Queen

Mary stretches up on her toes and pulls down the curtains. Light streams into the living room as she rolls them up, tossing them onto her pile for the wash. John’s at work, not here to tell her she shouldn’t be so active this soon after the delivery. It’s been a _month_. More than that, actually. Besides, she thinks, she’s the one in her body. She knows what she’s ready for.

What she’s ready for is spring.

It might be barely March, but Mary doesn’t care; it’s her house and it gets spring cleaning when she says. Her house. Her baby, crooning in the bassinet across the living room. She looks over it all in the morning light and thinks, this life is mine. I got out; I got here. I made this.

—With John, of course, she corrects herself, as she turns to take the curtains off the other window. No house without John, and definitely no baby. And she’s grateful. Grateful for anything that had to happen to get her here, right up to this moment in March tearing down the curtains like a wild woman and listening to little Dean babble all happy in the crib.

“Gu-ahh?” he says.

“Yeah!” she says back. “Goo. Ah.”

And she didn’t know she had so much mother in her, but when he makes those happy noises her heart goes all warm, bright as daffodils and soft as baby blankets. She wonders if she’s the same girl who used to sneak into cemeteries and dig up corpses, but she knows she is. Just safer. Happier. Whole.

Dean gurgles again. She starts to sing:

_Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green,  
When you are king, dilly, dilly, I shall be queen._

She feels like a queen, silly as it is, as she scoops the baby up carefully in one arm, making sure to support his head, and gathers up the bundle of curtains in the other. She drops them by the washing machine and then goes into the kitchen, taking down the curtains there with one hand and singing:

_Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?  
'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so._

“My heart tells me I love my baby,” she tells Dean. “Yes it does.” And then she kisses his head, rubbing her nose against those little tufts of fluffy hair.

When she stops and looks at him, he’s giving her his very first smile.

Mary squeals then, just a little. Leaving the curtains halfway in the sink, she spins through the room with the baby. Her baby. Dean.

Nothing else matters right now, she thinks. Her for queen, Dean’s smile for king, and the house for country and palace and home. 


End file.
